Madcap Moments
by NightOwl360
Summary: Moments with Gru and the girls as they learn to become a family, discover the past, and look toward the future. Sometimes what seems like a beautiful coincidence, is really the beginning of fate.
1. Girl Talk

Disclaimer: I do not own Despicable Me or it's characters.

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Madcap Moments

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Margo lay awake, staring at the somewhat blurry ceiling. She could tell that Agnes was already asleep by the way she let out a little snore every third breath, just as she knew that Edith was still awake. Her eight-year-old sister had something on her mind, judging by how still she was.

She knew that her sister never let things get to her during the day, when she could distract herself with activities or mischief. At night, when she had to be still and sleep, those worries and fears would creep over her and she would inevitably wake up Margo to talk about them. Usually it was about some cold remark made by Miss Hattie.

Margo was uncommonly smart for her age, a small fact her mother had _loved_ to brag to other parents about. She understood things that were, in the opinion of most adults, beyond her understanding. So she had understood within minutes of meeting Miss Hattie that it was up to her to take care of her sisters.

Via time, trial and error, she learned to recognize when Edith was afraid, what things make her question if it was _her_ fault they hadn't been adopted yet. The middle Lennox sibling was not comforted by a sugarcoating on reality, but by pure and blatant honesty.

As honest as Margo was with Eidth, there were things she refused to reveal to her sister. She never expressed her own fears of their uncertain future, and she never revealed that she honestly never thought that they would be adopted. Not all together, at least.

It still stunned her that it had actually happened, that their fortunes had changed for the better. Suddenly they had a grandma, an uncle, several hundred… cousins… and a dog (or something similar to one, anyway). They had hot meals, a warm bedroom, and no more _Box of Shame_.

But best of all, better than stuffed-crust pizza and pancakes, was Gru.

Now they had a father to give goodnight kisses, bedtime stories, and to chase away nightmares (although he still insisted that there really were monsters in the closet). He wasn't what they'd wanted, or what they'd thought was perfect. He didn't have a twinkle in his eye, or a unicorn for a pet… but he was more than they could ever have thought to wish for.

He loved them enough to give up the moon he had rightfully stolen.

Muffled voices drifted up through the floorboards of the old house, Uncle Nefario and Gru in intense debate over their next heist. She grinned to herself. How strange was it that she lived in the house of a diabolical criminal master mind… and she had never before felt safer or more loved.

_We found home, Mom. We stuck together and we found home, just like you said we would. _

What would their mother have thought of Gru?

Inessa Lennox had been, to Margo's mind, the most loving and accepting person in the world. She encouraged her children in whatever interests they pursued, whether it was Margo's books, Edith's tree fort (complete with toy arsenal for protection), or Agnes's unicorns (and frequent backyard expeditions to find and capture a real one).

She had raised them to be self-reliant, strong-minded, and independent. To never feel they needed to be like anyone else to be special. She was never to busy to help them when they needed her, or to proud to step back and let them learn on their own.

When Margo's friends had all started ignoring her because she refused to pick on another girl, her mother had taught her what true friendship was and how it was sometimes better to have no friends than to surround yourself with false smiles and mean hearts.

When a boy in school had called her four-eyes and laughed at her right after she'd gotten her glasses, her mother had sat her down and told her never to take her value from what others thought of her. Immediately after, she had taught her how throw a right hook without hurting her wrist.

Margo thought of Gru, patiently teaching Edith how to shoot the Ice-Ray with perfect accuracy. The way he actually seemed to enjoy sitting with Agnes at her tea parties, and how he so happily piled books into her hands at the library. Their mom had told them, time and time again, that family was not blood. Family was the ones who loved you best, and who you could trust and rely on.

Family had been more important to their mother than anything else. It was the reason why she, Edith and Agnes had refused to be separated, even when it meant never being adopted.

Inessa Lennox would have loved Gru, Margo decided, simply for the care and affection he showed to her daughters. She was happy for them, and the family they had found.

"Hey Margo, are you awake?"

"Yeah, I am." Margo replied and rolled onto her side to squint at the fuzzy form of her sibling. She was fairly sure that Edith was not looking at her, but staring at the ceiling. She considered reaching for her glasses, but decided against it. Gru always came up to check on them a few times before he went to bed. He'd undoubtedly be suspicious if she was 'sleeping' with her glasses on.

"Do you ever think about our… um… _other_ dad? The first one?"

Forgetting her reservations, Margo now sat up and slipped her glasses on, staring at her sister in surprised silence. Their father had died just a little bit after Agnes had been born, and she honestly hadn't thought that Edith had remembered him at all. At the very least, she had never spoken of him before now.

"Sometimes, I guess."

"Was he anything Gru?" Margo gaped at her sister for a moment, and then dissolved into giggles.

"Oh, Edith, I don't think _anyone_ is like Gru."

"He _is_ pretty awesome." Edith said, grinning back at her elder sister, "I don't think anyone can top stealing the moon. Even if he did put it back."

"Well, actually, it was weird pajama-man who put it back."

"What_ever_. Stupid pajama-man wouldn't have had the moon at all if Gru hadn't given it to him to get us back. Do you know how he died?"

"Vector died?" Well that was news to her. She had always figured that Gru would do cartwheels through the house at the news of the mathematically monikerd nerd's demise, and as that had yet to happen she assumed he was still around somewhere.

"_No!_ Our dad, do you know how _he_ died." Edith asked, rolling onto her side now, watching Margo with bright thoughtful eyes.

The elder sister shrugged and tugged her nightgown over her knees, hugging them to her chest. "Mom said that he got sick, and couldn't get better. She… didn't like talking about him. I think it was too painful for her, so I stopped asking. I didn't think you remembered him."

"I don't." the blond replied, pushing her beanie further up her forehead, "But you have Mom's wedding ring, so I know we had two parents at some point. Do you know if Gru knows anything about… what happened to us?"

"What happened with mom, or with Miss Hattie?"

"Both."

"I doubt he's thought about where we came from."

"He loves us, though. We're his now."

"Yeah," Margo smiled, "We are."

"So… are you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what?"

"About what Miss Hattie's was like." Edith rolled her eyes, as though her statement should have been clear the first time.

Now that was a question Margo had been asking herself since they had journeyed back to the orphanage so they could be re-adopted by Gru. She just wasn't sure there was any point in him knowing. She had, after all, seen the change that had come over him when Vector hadn't immediately released them.

She had watched his eyes go cold, flat, the face harden with rage. She had heard his voice go low and dangerous, the accent thicken as words snapped out of his mouth like a small poisonous darts. She had realized that this, the man who had played tea party with them, was a man you did not want to cross.

How did she explain the two years since their mother's death to such a man? How did she describe the cold, domineering way Miss Hattie handled her charges. Was there a way to chronicle the struggle it had been to acclimate from an environment of love and safety, to one of disdain and indifference? How did you detail the way reality had shattered your childhood, your innocence, and left you with nothing?

Through cutting remarks and harsh punishments, Hattie had taught them that they were worthless, ugly, and unlovable. They were nothing, Hattie had said, an unwanted burden. Who would want a know-it all like Margo, or a mud pie making mess like Edith? Who would want a stupid little dreamer like Agnes? There was no one in the world who would ever adopt them.

If he knew all of that, he would wonder what had happened after they'd been handed back to the orphanage. She wasn't certain what his reaction would be, or if he would need to seek… restitution… on their behalf. She didn't want that, didn't need it. What Margo wanted more than anything was to forget the last two years ever happened and live peacefully with her father and siblings.

"I'll tell him if he asks." She said quietly. She wouldn't lie to him, but she'd do her best to avoid answering.

Margo's eyes drifted over to where her youngest sister slept peacefully, "Agnes is lucky, you know. In a few years Miss Hattie will be a vague memory, and a few years after that she may not remember her or the orphanage at all."

"Will she forget Mom?" Edith asked, eyes going wide.

Margo heaved a sad sigh and rubbed a hand under her glasses. She'd always had to be strong for her sisters, never letting them see her grief or fear. Maybe she had thought that, if she could just burry it deeply enough, she would forget about the gaping wound inside of her. If she didn't _remember_ she wouldn't hurt.

"I think it's better, easier, to forget. When you forget… you don't have to wonder every day if there was something, anything, you could have done to change things. You don't stare outside every rainy October day, wondering who's going to be taken from you next. When you don't remember… you don't get scared when you _can't _remember."

Edith sniffed, rubbed at her nose and sat up. "I don't want to forget about Mom, even if it does hurt."

"I won't let you." Margo promised, "If I have to remember, so do you. That's pecking order."

"Good… Margo?"

"Yeah?"

"Um… I love you."

Margo smiled, feeling her throat go tight. That was the first time Edith had ever said that to anyone, ever. "I love you too."

"Do you think Gru would let us call him Dad?"

"I hope so. We'll make Agnes try it first, and see what he does."

"That's pecking order." The blond grinned.

As the sisters lay back down and began the slow descent into sleep, neither noticed the shadow pass away from their door.

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Author's Note: This is something that jumped into my head after seeing the movie. I am very curious about the girls origins, and the thought about if they would ever tell Gru about their history. I doubt very much that Gru would have thought about where they might have come from, given that they were just a means to an end at first.

If you can't tell already, Margo is my favorite sister. There will be a lot of Gru/Margo bonding moments in future chapters, because Margo was the one who said that Gru would never be her dad, and had the least faith in him even when he showed up to rescue them. I see her as the keeper of the family history/treasures because she is the eldest and remembers things more clearly than the other two. I also see her as the siblings Spokesgirl, so if there is information Gru needs/wants, he has to go to Margo to get it.

As for Miss Hattie... some may disagree... but I think that someone who stuffs children into small boxes is capable of, and probably has done, much worse to said children. I think that Gru would be... less than pleased... to know how his girls had been treated. Anyone wonder what he'd have done if he'd gotten a chance to get his hands on Vector at the end?

Next Chapter: The usefulness of eavesdropping, and what Gru now has to think about.


	2. All Questions, No Answers

Madcap Moments: Eavesdroppers

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Gru's mind was filled with the voices of his children as he lay abed with his fingers tented over his stomach. Bit by bit he ran the conversation over in his mind, wondering what had prompted it and what parts of it he had missed. How Margo's pretty giggles and Edith's comments about his own '_awesomness'_ had turned into a discussion about their evidently long-deceased father.

How long had they been orphans? What had caused their mother's death? Had she been an attentive parent? What illness had felled the father that not even Margo remembered? How had his eldest received her mother's wedding ring? He had thought that was the sort of thing one was buried with.

But what did he know? He had only even been in love once in his life, and that had ended in bitter disaster.

Why was Margo reluctant to tell him about their life in the orphanage? It had not seemed like a terrible place. It was certainly a lot better than some of the places he and his mother had hidden in on their way out of Russia when he'd been a boy. There were no rats or fleas. The stink of sewage and unwashed bodies did not permeate the air and filth did not clutter the floor in foul-smelling piles.

_Miss Hattie's Home for Girls _had been as clean and neat as it's headmistress. The floors had been scrubbed, the walls cheerfully painted. The girls had been healthy and well fed and wore good clothes and shoes.

He did not believe there had been any obvious _marks_ on them when he had first adopted them, however, he thought with unease, if the marks had been beneath their clothing he _wouldn't _know about them. Margo automatically helped her sister bathe and dress each day, thus sparing Gru from that particular part of fatherhood.

Even if there had been no marks, there were many ways to cause great physical pain to someone without leaving any visible trace. He himself occasionally employed such methods when a request for information was refused. Gru couldn't imagine that the woman he had met had the stomach for those… particular… methods.

The podgy woman had annoyed Gru from the moment she had opened her mouth. Everything about her, from her sugar sweet façade, fake smile, and arrogance to her doughy arms and big hair had made him itch for his freeze ray. She so obviously hated her job and the children under her charge and did not do a passable job of pretending other wise.

And she had been so _easy_ to flatter and manipulate.

But He could not see her as a woman to know such subtle, painful tortures as he sometimes utilized. He felt, with growing unease, that he could rule the posiblity out entirely. She _did _have small children wandering the streets, entering the homes of strangers to sell cookies without a passing thought to their safety.

There were a lot of weirdos in the out there.

Maybe he was blowing things out of proportion. The building was far too small to contain a properly soundproofed torture chamber, and _Miss Hattie_ didn't seem like that type anyway. It might mess up her pretty manicure. Still, _something _had happened there that Margo was reluctant to speak with him about and he would know the reason for this.

If his fears proved true, however, and that fat shrew had caused harm to his kittens… well, he _did_ have a properly soundproofed torture chamber and it had been some time since he'd gotten to make use of it. For her sake, Gru thought maliciously, Miss Hattie had better be as harmless and pathetic as she appeared.

Gru rolled onto his side restlessly, staring into the darkness at his bedroom door. He could have the minions do some hacking and pull up everything on the girls' and their former family, but he was oddly reluctant to do so. It would give him the most basic facts, but little else and he wanted to hear things from Margo. He would wait, though, because it was not so necessary he know _now. _

He would learn about the orphanage first and wait for an opportunity to ask about their mother.

He would be watching closely though, on rainy October days, for those signs of remembered grief. He knew what it was like to desperately wish to forget the people that left you, hurt you, to escape the pain of it. He knew also that, short of total amnesia, it never happened entirely as you wanted it to. Though you might bury the pain deep, it always reared up to bite at you when you least expected it.

But the difficulties of October were several months away yet, and he need not fret over them just now.

He listened to the settling of the house and wondered when Margo and Edith would make Agnes call him _Dad_. The fact that they wanted to call him that, especially Margo, sent such a pleasant feeling through him that the evenings previous unease lifted in it's wake. Dance class tomorrow, he thought as he began to relax and drift off. Maybe he would take them to ice cream afterward. They had not gone to an ice cream parlor yet.

When sleep finally claimed him, though, he fell into a fitful dream of mocking blue eyes and the sounds of frightened kittens calling for him.

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Yes... A lot of weirdos out there... Like guys that pretend to be a voice recording when little girls show up to sell cookies. Silly Gru.

Personally I think that as a villain Gru is capable of, and has likely indulged in, an array of odious acts. Torturing someone for information, for example.

One thing I hope to explore through the story is Gru's past, and how he turned to villainy, as well as the Girls' past and what lead them to be the children of Gru.


	3. Slow to Heal

Madcap Moments: Slow to Heal

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Midsummer sun beat down on the dry, yellowed grass that spread out from the bottom step of the back porch the rickety structure that made up a back fence. A small, ancient-looking shed stood at the back corner of the yard, shut with a rusty padlock. Margo had often wondered what, if anything, was in it.

She had discovered quickly that while the house itself _looked_ like it was falling into disrepair it was actually very well maintained. Gru simply preferred it to look run-down and foreboding to discourage visitors (and to annoy their next-door neighbor). Yet the house was old enough for the appearance of dilapidation to sit well on it.

Margo sighed and leaned back against the banister post, stretching her legs across the top. The open book in her lap slid down her thigh unnoticed and closed with a heavy thump. The young reader only stared up at the cloudless expanse of azure sky that extended out from the porch roof, immersed in thought.

For the first few weeks after their rescue, Margo had waited with silent apprehension to be abandoned again. Despite the fact that Gru had all but jumped to his death to save her, their immediate re-adoption, and the great gobs of trust he had won back when he had written _One Big Unicorn_. Despite everything and sundry, something inside of her had simply _expected_ to be thrown away.

The sound of the doorbell would instantly fill her with icy dread, and bindings of terror would close her throat and stop her breath as she waited for damning voice of Miss Hattie. It was all she could do to keep herself from clinging to her father and begging him not to answer the door.

Every time her fears were unfounded she would be filled with relief so palpable that she became lightheaded. This was, inevitably, followed by intense guilt. She loved Gru, and the evidence of her mistrust in him appalled her.

The waltz of dread, solace, and contrition was exhausting and served to twist her dreams into violent _what-if_ scenarios with endings that were as abysmal as they were vague. She hadn't had nightmares so bad or so often since she'd been Agnes's age.

Odd. She'd entirely forgotten that until now.

Margo wasn't sure if Gru sensed her distress or if their abandonment and subsequent kidnapping had left a scar on him as well, but every once in a while he would kneel down and simply hug her. He would hold her tightly, never speaking. In those moments it seemed that a little bit of the foreboding would chip and break off, floating free of her for a moment before dissipating into nothingness.

As the chill of late spring melted into the blaze of summer, the disquiet had been reduced to tiny glass-like fragments. Never entirely gone, these shards only bothered her occasionally and mostly on days when Gru would spend a great deal of time in the 'basement'. Though he would check on them frequently, and always came up for lunch and supper, it still had the curious effect of resurrecting those remaining worries.

Rules in the house were a strange and somewhat infrequent thing. They were allowed in the lab on the oath that they would never sample anything Dr. Nefario asked them to (apparently strangers with candy were _much_ more trustworthy than their beloved uncle). They had to ask for sweets, but could use the freeze ray any time they wanted… so long as they only shot minions.

Mostly he just made things up as he went which was, Margo supposed, the way of new parents.

It had been a surprise that Edith didn't spend every waking moment in the lab once she had been declared welcome. She suspected that her younger sister also harbored some abandonment issues and was trying, in her own way, to give him reason to let them stay. She wasn't positive of this, and Edith had said nothing to the effect of it, Margo was sure her suspicions were not far off.

Agnes was, well, Agnes.

Her baby sister's capacity for recovery was truly a thing of wonder. Then again, the youngest sibling maintained that she had _always_ known Gru would come back for them. He had pinkie-promised.

For Margo's part, being allowed in the lab did much to ease her anxiety. It reminded her, on those bothersome days, it was merely working and not avoiding their presence. Some days, though, the fear and doubt won and Margo's last defense was to take herself (sometimes in the company of her siblings) down to the underground labyrinth of yellow creatures and dastardly plans to seek him out.

The sound of distant laughter dislodged her from her musings and glanced up uselessly to the roof of the porch. Upstairs Edith and Agnes were engrossed in a board game with two of the minions assigned to look after them. Margo's own tiny yellow bodyguard was lounging on the steps poking at the dirt with a stick.

He glanced over at her now, his one eye huge behind the goggle that she had never seen any minion remove. "Uoy t'nod mees ot ekil ruoy koob, Big Sis. Od uoy tnaw ot og edisni? "

When she had first heard the minions talk she hadn't been able to fathom how Gru could understand a thing they said. This was still largely true. Though she could pick out a few words, she mostly had to rely on guesswork.

"You do remember I don't understand you, right?"

"Hem, sit yako." Loki merely waved a dismissive hand in the air, as he always did, unconcerned with the language barrier.

Margo reached down and levered the heavy volume back into her lap. One thing she loved the most about living here was Gru's astounding personal library. He had shown her the room after she had asked for a lift to the public library and had come home with _Jane Eyre, Great Expectations,_ and _The Fellowship of the Rings_.

Since Edith's latest late-night heart-to-heart Margo had found herself trying to sink deeper into the pages she read, to block out all thought but the printed words. Yet no matter what book she chose or how carefully she place her focus on the paper at hand, always her mind drifted to her mother and the days surrounding her untimely death.

As grateful as she was that Edith and Agnes had not been allowed in the hospital room, she was also jealous. Her last memory of her mother had been nothing short of a nightmare. The strongest person she'd ever known lying prone in a hospital bed, pale and waxen, with tubes and wires and God only knew what sticking out of her. Bandages obscuring the face that, she'd heard, no longer bore any resemblance to the woman who'd raised her and her beautiful hair viciously hacked away.

Abruptly Margo stood, shaking the image from her mind and struggling to breathe around the lump that had formed in her throat. Loki had jumped at her sudden movement and now stood awkwardly on the top step, uncertainty written on his face.

"Loki," She glanced down at the creatures, deliberated a moment, "I want to go see… Mr. Gru, okay?"

"Erus… ummm… Era uoy yako, Big Sis?"

Now that phrase she knew, as it was often applied to Agnes after she had tripped over, fallen off, or jumped from something.

"I'm fine."

She ignored the clear skepticism on his face and headed inside, still clutching the book to her chest. The house, while not enormous, was big and had more rooms that it seemed to. It may or may not have been built by Gru's great uncle… who may or may not have had to leave Russia after a scandalous _tête-à-tête_ with a nobleman's daughter (who may or may not have been related in some way to the Romanov family).

Their grandmother, while explicit with the family history, had the strangest habit of refusing to acknowledge whether someone did or did not really do something.

In any case, he may or may not have been responsible for the family tree in the upstairs hall to which Gru had recently added their photographs (much to their utter delight). Her father had little to say about how he had acquired the house, except that he may or may not have inherited it.

It was then that Margo had decided that her father could be very annoying when he really wanted to be.

Smiling a little at the memory, Margo climbed into the elevator and braced a hand on its side as they began the decent. The vast underground lab had always astonished her, with its warren of rooms and facilities. The place often made her wonder why Gru hadn't chosen to pose as a contractor, he'd have been much more convincing.

She stepped off the lift to a chorus of minion gibberish, greetings mostly. A passing minion (Tom, James, Fred… how on earth did her father tell them apart?) informed Loki where 'Big Boss' was, and Margo followed him closely.

As the hall opened up into the wide space full of half-finished inventions and spare parts that Dr. Nefario called a lab she was disappointed to see that her father was no where in sight. Her new Uncle, however, was watching her approach behind the thick goggles he wore.

"Gru is in the armory." He said before she could speak, "That way." He gestured absently toward a door at the back of his workroom. He returned his attention to the bits of colored wire sticking out of something that Margo couldn't identify, but turned to stare at her as she stared to pass by,

"Here now, wait a moment… ah… Margo." He stared at her in silence for a long moment before his heavy brow furrowed, "Are you ill?"

"Um… no." she replied, confused by the sudden inquiry. While Gru was sometimes awkward with (and occasionally terrified by) the three of them, his affection was evidenced in his actions and words. Uncle Nefario, on the other hand, bounced between pretending they didn't exist and treating them like minions. She was never certain what he thought about their place in Gru's life.

His sudden interest in her heath was, therefore, odd and to be treated with suspicion.

"Why are you pale then, eh? You go down to the armory like that and you'll have Gru running off to the store for cough syrup or some such thing."

"Ah, didn't he already buy a bunch of stuff when Edith's allergies flared up?"

"Yes, well if you hadn't noticed where you three are concerned," the elderly man said as he pulled a small stool up to his work bench and patted it, "Gru tends to go a little overboard."

With slight uncertainty she climbed onto the stool and watched at the Doctor returned his attention to the complex maze of wires and lights. Margo studied the man while as he worked, wondering if there had ever been a more perfect example of a mad scientist.

"I met Gru while I was on sabbatical in Egypt, many years ago. He was young then, or so he seemed to me at least. He was traveling, as the young often do, enjoying the spoils of his first big heist."

For a moment Margo wanted to ask exactly what kind of spoils he had gotten from the heist, but was reluctant to interrupt. Gru rarely spoke of himself or his life before they entered it, and when he did it wasn't for very long. Grandma would tell them stories of his childhood, but they ended at his eighteenth birthday. Heck, she didn't even know how old he was.

"Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday; the heat, the sun glinting off the sand. I was in the bar of the Mena House, the lights were dim and golden, cigar smoke permeated the air, and the place was full of people, everywhere was the sound of music and muted conversation. He knew who I was the moment he saw me and I knew _what_ he was."

"How?" Margo whispered, caught up in the picture he painted.

"A villain can always recognize their own kind. He ordered a drink and approached me, introduced himself. I was impressed from the first moment he spoke. Here, at last, was a man of substance and intellect. Ambitious, well educated, well mannered. Decorum, huh, that's certainly something the youth of today have lost!" he snorted derisively and focused on the gizmo on the table which had started to spark and let of a foul acrid smoke.

"I knew from the first that he was bound for great things, that he would make a name for himself. Oh he was still a little green around the edges, but not weak. No, he was sharp and keen, and eager for a brawl. He was in one that week, actually, if I remember right."

"_Dad_ was in a bar fight?" Margo blurted out, and felt heat flood her face. She had never called him dad out loud, not even to her sisters.

"Hmm, maybe I shouldn't have told you that."

"Well… did he win? What was it about?"

Dr. Nefario studied her for a moment and eventually shrugged.

"Yes, and I believe it started over a game of cards, or possibly a woman. He always did have an eye for the ladies." He shook his head, and Margo wasn't sure if it was in amusement or exasperation. "It was five, six years before I saw him again, and by that time he had changed so much… I was like I was speaking to a different person."

"Changed how?"

"He'd become cold, cynical, manipulative. When I'd first met him he was social, enjoyed surrounding himself with an intelligent… entourage. Yet the man I met in India was private, solitary. He kept no friends, no acquaintances, no attachments, and there was a new, cold anger in him that hadn't been there before."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" Margo finally asked, staring down at the floor. She felt suddenly like she was prying into something she ought not to.

"You and your sisters are the only thing that I have ever seen Gru allow himself to care about in nearly twenty years. So if something or some_one_ is troubling you, Gru will stop at nothing to find out what that thing is and fix it."

"Oh." She murmured, guilt rippling up her spine.

"Talk to him soon, please, so he can concentrate on our next project." The old man swung around to look at her, peering closely, "Not so pale now. On your way, then, he should still be in the armory."

* * *

This chapter was totally an excuse to throw out a few tidbits about Gru's past. I see our beloved Mr. Gru as being highly intelligent and educated. He likes to learn, because knowledge is power and Gru likes power.

I do feel that Edith and Margo would have to have _some_ sort of issue with Gru's abandonment after the fact, especially since it was followed up by being kidnapped and falling out of a huge flying ship. I think they'd express it in different ways, but they'd both have some fear about it happening again. As the eldest, Margo has had to take care of her siblings and is, therefore, more inclined to hide her fears than open up about them. Gru, likewise, has no idea how to broach the subject and so tries to give her reassurance in a way that doesn't require words.

I also feel that Gru himself would not so quickly get over those events, and probably has some issues with them himself. Guilt at abandoning them, leaving them vulnerable to vector, and his original intent when he adopted them. I'll be getting into his end of things in a future chapter.

Sometimes when I start a story, I don't have a clear view of where it's headed. This one, for example, started out as tidbits and has worked it's way into a clearer path. This has caused me some difficulty as this story has become somewhat darker in my mind than I'd originally intended for it to be, and the final few chapters are shaping up to be pretty violent. That was not my intention when the story began, and so I placed the rating at K+. However I am at an impasse as to what to do. Should I raise the rating now, just to be safe? I think I'd only have to bump it up to T, which isn't a big step up from it's current rating but, when I get to the final chapters, I might feel I need to bump it up to M, if I feel it'd push things a bit.

I ask the opinion of the readers; should I raise the rating and go ahead with my plan (which will be caused entirely by violence and possible mild language) or should I keep it mild and disney-esque?

Aside from that: Can anyone tell me what Gru said to Miss Hattie in Spanish that made her smack him with a dictionary? I don't speak a word of the language and I really want to know.


	4. My Little Scholar

Madcap Moments: My Little Scholar

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A long table stood in the middle of the armory, neatly set with various weapons and the tools required for their care and maintenance. An adjacent table held an open laptop, a three-ring metal binder with a thick sheaf of papers inside it, and a pot of coffee. A shiny black mug sporting the words '#1 Boss' sat untouched and steaming beside the computer.

Gru stood with his palms resting flat on the cold surface of the table, his dark eyes sweeping keenly over its contents. The sleeves of his gray turtleneck sweater were pushed up to his elbows, his jacket and scarf tossed absently over the back of the chair. The room was blissfully silent, and almost cold.

He turned and took up his coffee cup, idly scanning the files on the laptop's screen while he geared his mind toward the task at hand. Anything was better than dwelling on the fact that Vector had made it back to earth in one unfortunate piece. He'd already had a tantrum about that, a very manly one that involved shooting things, now he was going to focus on something productive.

In the binder were the original care instructions for each weapon in his possession, in the computer were the modified instructions regarding Nefario's modifications to those weapons. As he ensured that his arsenal be in top working order, he could keep an eye out for anything that seemed small enough for the girls to learn to use.

He had so enjoyed teaching Edith with the freeze ray, and was content to let the girls play with it when they wished, but the fact was that they were all so small it took all three to lift and aim it (or just Edith, with three or four minions helping her). The news that Vector was on the planet again had sparked a very fervent need to have the girls armed.

He hadn't told them about their kidnapper's return, yet, but hoped that the information would kill any reluctance Margo might have. It was narrow and unlikely, given how stubborn she was, but still possible. He would not force her to learn if she dug her heels in (as she was ever so likely to do) but he would encourage it by any means.

Setting his coffee aside he perched on the wheeled stool and took up the first weapon. Wordlessly he chose the corresponding file on the computer, and flipped open the metal binder, leafing through until he came to the correct page. Soon he was immersed in the work, and the rest of the world faded away.

So it happened that when someone tapped his arm he let out an entirely undignified yelp and leapt to his feet. He spun in almost the same movement, hand automatically going for the freeze ray at his back and… freezing… when he found himself staring at his eldest child.

Margo stood in a dark tank top, purple denim skirt and her favorite red high tops. She clutched a book to her chest, bound in dark leather with gold-edged pages. He knew the book instantly, and how odd that of all the books in his collection Margo should find _that_ one.

"Oh, Margo." He moved his hand away from the armament, embarrassment sweeping through him. Would he ever become accustomed to having children? Confusion came quickly on the heels of embarrassment when he noticed that she was alone, save for her minion. Margo rarely came to the lab by herself, unless…

"Ees eet deener time, already?" He asked, eyes darting toward the clock on the computer, but it had already gone to screensaver and was no help to him.

"No, I was just, I mean…" She hesitated, and the amused smile that had graced her features a moment before dissolved into something between distress and embarrassment. Eventually she shrugged a little, eyes dropping to the floor, "I was bored, I guess. Edith and Agnes are playing a game, I'm sorry I didn't mean to bother you."

"No, no, no!" He replied quickly, reaching down to lay his hands on her shoulders, "'Eet ees no bother. You are welcome een de lab anytime you like." He didn't miss the worried frown that Loki was favoring Margo with, he'd have a talk with the minion later, nor did he miss the way his daughter was clutching the book so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

She was having the pangs again. Damn.

Guilt flooded, choked him, but he forced everything back. They weren't as bad as when he had first brought her home, when she would be trying so hard to act normal. He wasn't sure if she knew that she would go white every time the doorbell rang, or that she would start to shake when he would get up to answer it.

He hadn't known how to talk to her about it, so he hadn't. He'd just hugged her, held her tightly, and wallowed in his own guilt. It seemed to work as Margo would calm down and as time passed the frequency and ferocity of the pangs lessened. Perhaps he had been wrong, and it would have been better, easier, if they'd talked.

Hell, what did he know about being a parent? He didn't remember his own father, and had virtually been raising himself since he'd been five. He loved his mother, mostly, but he'd be damned if he went to her for parenting advice.

"You sure?" She asked tentatively and he managed a smile through the guilt. He glanced over as the minion scurried away and returned with a stool identical to the one behind him.

"Yes, now… thank you Loki, why don't you come an seet by me. Would you like some coffee?" He laughed at the disgust that twisted her little face, "Maybe not. Loki, please go and make Margo some hot chocolate."

"yako, tub I lliw eb gnisu artxe swollamhsram" He gave a sharp nod and hurried off to the Minion Kitchens before Gru could reply.

"What did he say?" Margo asked, reaching up to tug on his sleeve.

"He said dat he ees going to thwart my parental authoreety by geeving you far to many marshmallows, no matter what I say."

"He said all that? But he barely spoke?"

"Eet's what he meant dat counts." Gru shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He watched as she settled herself on the stool her minion had provided, resting the book in her lap. The gilded cover gleamed dully in the florescent light, and he thought of the woman who had given it to him all those years ago.

Desperate for something to do, Gru poured himself more coffee and glanced at the girl sitting at his side. Her eyes roved around the massive room, taking in the various weapons of mass and minimal destruction housed therein. Her face, he noticed, was just a trifle paler than it should be.

They were attractive children, he thought, and had no doubt come from attractive parents. Margo was a wonderfully intelligent eleven-year-old, and saw the world with eyes that were equal parts adult and child. She would be the know-it-all in school, answering every question and throwing off the grading curve. He had been the same way at her age.

Like her sister, Edith was as intelligent as she was wild. He often thought of her as a small blond cannonball rocketing around his house. He doubted she'd ever grow out of it, and expected to be hounded into buying skateboards, roller blades, and all manner of things likely to end in injury. She was tough kid, and he'd no doubt that she'd take to his lessons like a fish to water.

Agnes was an unknown. She lacked both Margo's sensible calm and Edith's manic energy. She was a happy little girl, eternally optimistic, persistently cheerful. He suspected strongly that she would always be the sweet little ray of sunshine she was now, despite his influence, and would go on spreading rainbows and happiness wherever she went.

And he would make damn sure that no one could ever mess with her.

"So… what are you working on?" Margo asked, eyes focusing on the table.

"Routine maintenance," He replied, setting the cup aside, "I try to do so every year or so, but eet has gotten away from me these last few years." Four or five years, really. He hadn't realized how much he had been stagnating in both his career and his life until the girls had turned everything upside down.

"It looks like it would take you a year just to go through the whole room!" Margo said with mild awe, and made Gru laugh.

"Only about two weeks, I think, eef I focus on eet and don't get deestracted by something else. Are you enjoying _Cyrano de Bergerac_?" At her confusion, he nodded one at the book in her lap.

"Huh? Oh, not really."

"Eef you don't like eet, why are you reading it?" He asked. He had many reasons why his taste for that book had soured; most of them had nothing to do with the story itself.

"I dunno… my mom used to read it all the time, it was her favorite. I've read it before, I just don't understand why she liked it so much."

"Well, why do _you_ dislike eet?"

"The characters mostly, I mean De Guiche is a pervert, Christian is a fake and a liar, and Roxanne is a selfish, vain… shrew. Cyrano would be mostly okay except that he helped Christian lie, and then was to much of a coward to admit it."

He laughed, he couldn't help it, she looked so stern it was adorable. "Well, mostly I agree with you." He glanced over as Loki came in bearing a small tray with a single mug simply _overflowing_ with marshmallows. He rolled his eyes, but said nothing about it only because Margo looked so delighted.

"However, I do not feel dat Roxanne was a shrew, precisely, or Cyrano a coward. Much of Roxanne's vaneety came from being a _précieuse, _who were a social… _clique_ I suppose you could say, dat were very focused on appearance. Who you were did not matter to them as much as how you appeared to be. Dat is why Cyrano did not believe Roxanne would love him."

"Because he wasn't handsome, like Christian?"

"Yes, exactly. Just as Christian did not believe that he would win her because he was not witty, not a poet. Roxanne equated beauty with intelligence. Because Christian was handsome, he must be clever. She was more foolish than she was anything else."

"What about Cyrano, then? If he would have just _told _her the letters were his, they could have been happy. Cowardice."

"He couldn't." Gru replied after a moment, "Because eef he was anything, Cyrano was loyal. To reveal the lie to Roxanne was to smear the memory of her husband, and his brother-in-arms."

"Sounds like an excuse to me." Margo muttered,

He laughed, tugged her ponytail, "Eet maybe something you do not understand until you are older."

"Yeah, my teacher last year said that too." She rolled her eyes, fiddled with the book's cover. "Who's Grigori?"

Gru sighed, wondering if he shouldn't have thrown the book out years ago. It wasn't like _She_ would care.

"Grigori was de name I was using at de time I received dat book."

"Like… an alias?"

"Yes. I have several, Grigori Yefimovich is one." One he hadn't used since Paris, but that was a detail he'd keep to himself. He stood up and stretched dramatically, "Now, I believe that all of dis leeterary deescussion has made me hungry. Would you like to help me make deener?"

He offered his hand when she nodded, and was as surprised as he was pleased when she took it as she hopped off the stool, leaving the book and a half-full mug of hot chocolate forgotten on the table. Their footsteps echoed around the metal walls as they walked, and it was the first time he ever thought it an eerie sound. Damn book, he thought, should have thrown it out after Paris.

Well, he couldn't very well get rid of it now, not when it reminded Margo of her mother. It didn't matter, he told himself firmly. That bit of foolishness was more than ten years gone, and it did not have any bearing on his life now. He had his girls, the minions, Dr. Nefario and his work. Nothing else mattered.

"What are we making for dinner?" Margo asked, tugging at his hand to regain his attention.

"I do not know. What would you like?"

"Pizza?" she asked hopefully.

He had discovered in short order that the girls loved Pizza more than any other food in the universe. He had soon learned that they had not been allowed to have it at the orphanage. They would use this information to attempt to coerce him into having it for dinner as frequently as they could. He was mildly embarrassed to admit that it usually worked.

Rapidly he searched his memory for something, anything, that might distract her from that. As much as he loved his girls, he could not stand to eat pizza every night. "We had pizza last night so… perhaps I could make something from my childhood. Does Edith eat stew?"

"Edith will eat anything you put in front of her. Agnes is the picky one. She like soup, and that's pretty much the same thing, isn't it?"

"More or less." He replied, "There ees a dish my mother used to make when I was a boy… eet was one of my favorites." And his mother, for all of her faults, had been a decent cook when she'd had a mind for it. Mostly, however, it had been the magic of the microwave.

He nodded to Nefario as they passed though his work area, paused when the old man looked up, "We are having Kapusta for supper tonight, eef you would like to join us."

"Is Anna coming over, then?" Nefario asked, brows raised.

"No, Margo and I weell make eet." He'd always found it odd that his friend maintained a cordial relationship with his harpy of a mother. Not only cordial, he thought, but on first name terms.

"Well, I suppose I'll come up anyway." The doctor replied after a moment's thought, "Let me know when it's ready."

Gru nodded and Margo gave the man a friendly wave that was, to Gru's astonishment, acknowledged with a small inclination of the head. To date Nefario and the girls (with the exception of Agnes) mostly ignored each other. It was progress, he supposed, toward a time when Nefario would not try to use them as science experiments.

"Um… Mr. Gru?" Margo asked as they walked, and he had to squelch the sigh of disappointment that still she would not call him dad. It reminded him, always, of her words on that first night.

"Hmm?" he glanced down at her,

"What's… kapusta?"

"Healthy." He replied simply and was rewarded with a long-suffering sigh and another tug on his hand, "Okay, okay. Kaputsa ees a stew made from meat, cabbage, and various other vegetables. Eet ees good, I promise."

"Grandma used to make it for you?" She asked,

"Yes… sometimes." Whenever she wanted it herself, and could be bothered to make it. Every once in a while the mood would strike and she would bring the leftovers over. Mostly he'd been able to enjoy it on holidays, Christmas and Easter primarily.

Now that he had a family, he thought, he would have to consider doing things on days like Thanksgiving and Christmas. What had the girls done with their mother, he wondered. What had they done in the Orphanage. Well, that was no matter… they were his now and they would make their own traditions.

Which meant he'd probably let them talk him into all manner of things. Well, it was only July so he had a while yet before he had to consider anything. For now he'd just look forward to Halloween, his personal favorite, and the opportunity to frighten children into tears.

* * *

A few things regarding the previous chapter: The Mena House is an actual Hotel in Cairo. It's very historic and very beautiful, and the perfect setting for Gru and Nefario's first meeting (which I hope to go into more detail of later one, maybe, if it works out).

_Kapusta_ is a very tasty stew made from beef or pork (my dad always uses pork when he makes it) celery, carrots, onions, cabbage, sauerkraut, and various other things. The word Kaputsa literally means 'Cabbage' in various languages including Russian.

The closest I've come to _Cyrano de Bergerac_ is the movie with Gerard Depardieu. I used my memory of the movie, and a handy little thing called Cliff Notes, for the entire conversation Gru has with Margo.

I wanted to demonstrate Margo's advanced intellect with her reading level, and comprehension therein. I agree with her about the characters, though, I never did like Roxanne. Another reason to choose that story was, well… Gru makes me think of Cyrano. I'd love to see them… nose to nose, so to speak.

Poor Gru can't wait for them to call him daddy, I wonder when that's going to happen.

(P.S. Kudos to any who can guess just why Gru would chose _that_ particular combination of names for his alias)


	5. Parenthood

Madcap Moments: Parenthood

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Being a parent was hard.

"I don't want bubble bath!"

"Edith stole my ducky! Make her give it back!"

Margo sighed and tipped the pink bottle of_ Mr. Bubble_ Gru had purchased, reluctantly, the other day at Agnes' insistence. She did not acknowledge Edith's protests or Agnes' complaints until she was assured the water was foaming satisfyingly.

"Edith, Gru wouldn't have bought the bubble bath for us if he didn't mean for us to use it." She was almost certain the source of his reluctance was the pink container. "Agnes, your ducky is in the cupboard under the sink. You," she pointed to each of her siblings in turn, "take off your hat and get in the tub. You, put the unicorn down and-"

"But he likes baths!"

"He doesn't need one. Now put him down so I can help you with your jumper."

Being a parent was exhausting.

"OWOWOWOWOWO YOU GOT SOAP IN MY EYES!"

"Edith, I'm just getting your hair wet, I haven't even touched the shampoo yet."

"Oh."

Margo rolled her eyes and valiantly resisted the temptation to simply upend the pitcher over her sister's head. It'd serve her right, and be extremely entertaining to Agnes. She did resist, however, because it would inevitably degenerate into a water war, and she didn't fancy explaining that to Gru.

Holding the shampoo bottle aloft, Margo gave her sibling a dark look, "I'm sure that you don't want me to _accidentally_ get soap in your eyes, so you're going to be _very_ still and quiet, aren't you?"

She had the small satisfaction of watching the diminutive blond calculate the odds, gulp nervously, and nod. While she might not completely believe that Margo would get soap in her eyes on purpose, she apparently didn't want to risk being wrong.

As she ran soap through her sister's pretty blond hair, Margo silently thanked Gru for allowing her to restrict bath night to a twice-a-week brawl.

Cleanliness had been a strict rule at the orphanage. Everyone made their beds every morning with fresh linens, brushed their teeth three times a day, and had a bath or shower every other evening. While such rules were not extreme or unreasonable (unless your sibling was Edith), the punishments for failing in any of these tasks were.

Then again, there had been punishments for everything.

It had seemed to Margo, on those rare occasions when she wasn't distracted with one sibling or the other, that there was something particularly offensive about children in general, and orphans in particular, to the social worker. They were dirty to her in a way that had little or nothing to do with mud and germs.

She'd never had the time to reflect on for long. Her main concerns had been keeping Edith and Agnes together, clean, away from with Hattie and out of the _Box of Shame_. Survival. Each and every day had been about survival. There was no time to speculate on the psychological dysfunctions of the headmistress.

Now, though, there was time and she did wonder why. Late at night, looking back on those two years, she wondered why. Margo could understand not getting attached to children who could be fostered at any time. She could even understand wanting those under her care to be exceptionally clean and presentable.

She couldn't understand why Betsy Jonas had been forced to wash her hands in scalding water because she picked her nose. Or why Lizzy Applegate had to stay up all night and clean the bathroom with her own toothbrush because she had forgotten to wash her hands before handling Miss Hattie's coffee mug.

There were, in fact, a lot of things about her former guardian that didn't make any sense. Maybe it was because she was an adult. Margo was finding that very few grown-ups made any sense whatsoever, including her new father.

Maybe it was just one of those things that she would understand when she was older, like _Cyrano de Bergerac_.

"Why do you look so sad, Margo?"

The brunette jumped and found her littlest sister staring up at her, eyes wide and concerned. She worked up a smile, rinsed the soap from he hands, and tugged on a strand of Agnes' black hair.

"I'm fine, just thinking is all."

"So, are you going to rinse my hair anytime soon? I want to get out before the Gobbltygook monster comes." Edith cut in,

"_The what?_" Agnes squeaked, looking sharply at her bath mate.

"Don't listen to her Agnes."

But she smiled a little as Edith began to tell Agnes all about the terrible monster that lived in the drain of the bathtub and ate kids who didn't get out of the bath before all the water drained out of it.

Margo had to promise the five-year-old three separate times that she wouldn't pull the plug until both of them were out of the bathroom.

Being a parent was hard sometimes, but being a sister was a lot of fun.

* * *

I dedicate this chapter to the DVD release of Despicable me *cuts ribbon*

I really didn't think I'd have it finished in time. Sorry for the delay everyone, but I can only cite the holiday season as the cause. That and a little writers block. Mostly it's just a busy time of the year.

I almost skipped this chapter entirely and went straight to Gru's next chapter, but I didn't want to break the Margo-Gru-Margo-Gru pattern I've already established.

I know I have Margo reminiscing/reflecting a lot, but that's how I see her. As the eldest she has the most need to understand _why_ things were the way they were. Also, she has no one to talk to about it, so she internalizes. And both Eidth and Margo would rather Agnes not be burdened by the past.

I was about four when my sister told me about the Gobbltygook monster who lives in the bathtub drain and eats children. She was a drama student, and proceeded to lock herself in the bathroom and pretend to be caught by said monsters (she did voices, pretended to be eaten) and I was terrified of the bathtub for years.


	6. Dreamer

Madcap Moments: Dreamer

* * *

He'd dreamt of her again.

Not a dream, exactly, but a memory. A memory as crisp and clear as though he had stepped eighteen years into his past. He had smelled the wood polish on the air, seen the light glinting off the shinned marble floors of L'Hotel in Paris.

He had felt his heart begin to race as she entered the lobby and sashayed up to the reception desk in a shimmering red dress, her hair hanging down in glorious chestnut brown waves. She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and when she had looked over, caught him staring; she had smiled so brilliantly it had shamed the diamonds at her throat.

How much better it would have been for them both if that had been the last of their acquaintance, he thought bitterly.

Perhaps things would have been different if she had been, somehow, less than herself. If beauty had been her only trait, had she been stupid and dull, maybe he would have grown bored with her and that would have been the end of it. But, no, she had been vivacious and full of life. Witty and clever, intelligent and educated, it had often seemed to him that her only flaw was vanity.

And a tendency to cheat at cards, but he had admired that.

He had called her a _précieuse, _his very own Roxanne, and it had made her laugh. If she were Roxanne, she had said tapping his nose, then that made him Cyrano. In retrospect, perhaps he should have seen that as a warning sign.

He was a fool to have loved her. A bigger fool yet to have thought, even for one fanciful second, that she might have loved him. She had felt something for him, he knew, and they had been friends. Yet she had used him. Had, what was it? _Led him on_. Despite their friendship, and his feelings for her.

Cyrano lost his rival, but never allowed himself to win Roxanne. A significant difference between them, which his own _précieuse,_ had failed to recognize, was that Gru had not the nobility of spirit that had always annoyed him in Cyrano. He was, as she had so quaintly said of him, _Gruesome Grigori_.

She had been wearing gold that last night in Paris. Standing amid the shattered wreckage of her hotel suite in gold silk, pale and frightened and trembling as he advanced toward her. She had seen then, for the first and only time, the beast that had lain hidden within the man. She had seen him for what he truly was.

And he had never looked back.

Gru had left Paris with a fierce, all consuming determination to never all anyone, or anything cause him that kind of agony ever, ever again. He dove into to the glacial rage that she had unleashed, let it devour and burn him out until he was finally empty inside. He had emerged from that storm as a different man. Focused, controlled, and above all else: cold.

As that primal rage had slowly burned itself out, he began to straggle into something like bored resignation. He had small pleasures in life; coffee, wine, books, wanton destruction of property. Enough to make believe he was contented, even happy.

He realized only now that the decision to charge after the moon had less to do with re-claiming his title and more to do with a desperate need to feel _something_ again. Even for just a moment. To regain the hunger and drive that had carried him through most of his career.

It hadn't been the moon that had rekindled his thirst for life, however. It had been one tiny terrorist, and two miniature miscreants.

His girls.

He wasn't sure if he would ever get used to parenthood. Everyday the girls did something new and confusing that he had to figure out. Sometimes he found that everything they did was fascinating, other times he wished desperately for an instruction manual or an off switch.

Just this afternoon Edith had asked him where babies come from. After almost ten minutes of horrified silence, he had fallen like a rabid wolf on the old adage: Ask me again in ten years. Margo had laughed at him so hard she'd doubled over and fallen off the couch. She seemed to think that Edith might need some sort of talk (and, oh GOD, he didn't even want to think about that) before she turned eighteen.

Sitting there with Edith in his lap, Agnes coloring contently on the floor, and Margo trying (without success) to stifle her giggles, his heart had just swelled up with affection for them. He laughed too, after that, and he hadn't really understood why.

Had it really been only a few months since he had believed himself devoid and incapable of love and affection. Now the love he felt for the girls, the depth and force of it, terrified him sometimes. Whenever Agnes threw herself on his legs or Edith asked for dead-guy pancakes, or when Margo handed him One Big Unicorn, that love would rush up to shatter and mend him all at the same time.

How did you transition from being empty and numb, to full and happy in that short space of time? How did you accept that that happiness was hinged, with finality, on three tiny and fragile lives?

Gru rolled over and sighed, resigned to a sleepless night. He'd had trouble sleeping since discovering that not only had Vector returned from the moon but had, as far as he could ascertain, gone underground. Gru had been unable to dig up one trace of the slimy little prick.

He'd put feelers out through various colleagues and was still waiting for word back. He didn't like how thoroughly the guy had disappeared. As soon as he had a location, he was going to ensure Vector never thought about touching his children again.

He had been considering ways to do this, and had finally settled on simply beating the boy into submission. It was a bit lacking in finesse, but there was nothing quite so satisfying as an old fashioned bare-knuckled beat down. He could almost feel Vector's nose breaking under his fist, the freakishly white teeth coming loose… blood flying.

It made such a pretty picture in his mind that he sighed contentedly and relaxed into his mattress. Memories of Paris faded under plans of violent assault and battery.

With a jolt of alarm his eyes popped open and he reared up in bed. Heart racing and breath hitching he listened to the stillness. He wasn't certain if he'd heard it, or if he'd dreamt it. Hadn't he just been thinking about how Vector would cry like a little girl?

There it was again; a sharp, shrill wail. Oh God.

The girls!

* * *

Sorry for the delay, but RL is kicking my sorry rump. I haven't had time for much of anything. It seems like every time I sit down to write, someone interrupts me with something and I lose my focus.

For some reason, I just see Gru as the sort of guy/villain, that would get a serious kick out of handling things directly, I.E., with his fists. I think he probably got into a lot of fights in school and, over time, just learned to be stronger and tougher than the bullies.

I think he likes his toys (guns) but every now and then he just has to indulge in a good, old fashioned, bare fisted beating. I really like writing his scary, sadistic side. You can just imagine all the plans he went through before settling on the direct approach with Vector.

As with the Mena House, L'Hotel is a real and ritzy hotel in Paris. Google pictures of it, it's so lovely.


	7. Daddy

Madcap Moments: Daddy

* * *

Gru had brushed death many times in his life. As a child he had nearly died of an illness, as a preteen he had blown up his mother's garage (something she had yet to forgive him for). As a teenager he had leapt off the gym's roof (testing out a jet pack) boosted and subsequently wrecked the principal's car (walked away unscathed but for a tiny scrape on the tip of his nose), and had almost drowned twice.

The reckless teenager had grown into a reckless man. He was a villain who wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty or endanger his life during the heist. On the contrary, his favorite part of his vocation wasn't the planning or the payoff; it was the risk. The chilling moment when the die is cast and you hang precariously between success and demise.

There was nothing more exhilarating than impending death. It was a thrill unlike anything else on earth, seductive and addicting. No matter how many times, or ways, he had come an inch close to death he had never felt fear. It wasn't something he bragged about, because it wasn't something he had ever examined closely. He was cautious, mistrustful, but never afraid.

He had tasted fear, perhaps for the first time in his life when Vector had refused to release the girls to him, and again when Margo had fallen from the little pest's craft. He tasted it again as Agnes's piercing wails echoed through the hallway. For a moment he was unable to move or think. It was as though ice had encased his bones, trapping him in place, and then he was moving, throwing the covers aside and leaping to his feet.

The nightstand crashed onto its side as Gru seized the freeze ray and rushed through his bedroom door. It was not a long hallway, but the run from his bedroom to theirs seemed to take an eternity. He never closed the door all the way, and was grateful for this as he slammed through it with his shoulder, bringing the freeze ray up to sweep the room.

And was bewildered to find his two eldest children turn to stare at him from their positions around Agnes' bed.

"What ees going on een here?" He lowered the Freeze Ray, eyes automatically going to Margo's. He had to raise his voice over Agnes, and was surprised to find he was more relieved than he was anything else.

"I'm really sorry Mr. Gru, "his eldest replied, gently rubbing her sister's back, "Agnes had a bad dream and, well, she just won't calm down."

"Does she always scream like dat when she has a nightmare?"

"Pretty much." Edith offered, hanging over the side of her bed,

Gru set the freeze ray aside and scooped his daughter up, holding her at eye level, "Agnes, _Agnes_, for heaven's sake, Keeten, take a breath!"

No one was more surprised than Gru when, almost instantly, the little girl complied. Face flushed, hair askew, eyes screwed shut and tears streaming down her face Agnes' screams dissolved into hiccups and little mewling whimpers. She didn't say anything when she finally opened her eyes, just hung limp his hands.

"Okay," he breathed, mind rushing to figure out what he was supposed to do now. Carefully, as though she might explode, he laid her onto his shoulder and rubbed her back as Margo had done. Distantly he realized that, more than anything else, he was incredibly relieved that they were all right.

"Okay," he said again, "You gorls go back to sleep, I weel take care of your seester."

"Are you sure?" Margo asked as he led her back to bed and pulled her blanket up to her neck.

"Yes, Margo, I am sure. Go back to sleep."

Silently he exited the room taking the freeze ray as he went, and slipped downstairs. He nodded to several concerned minions as he entered the living room, ordered one to fix him some tea and Agnes something. He didn't bother saying what because, as he had discovered, the minions seemed to think the girls only drank hot chocolate overflowing with marshmallows.

He settled himself on the couch and rested his little daughter in his lap. She leaned against him, one little hand fisted in his sweater. The whimpers had subsided, and the hiccups seemed to have lessened a little. He wondered if anyone in his life had ever comforted him from a nightmare. His mother certainly hadn't, and he had no memories of his father.

All in all it was just one big reminder that he had no idea what the heck he was doing. Still, he supposed, flying by the seat of his pants had become something of a trademark in his career. So he took a fortifying sip of tea from the mug Frank set at his elbow, and shifted the little girl around until he could look down into her large brown eyes.

"Eet was a very scary dream?" he asked, and was a little concerned when she only nodded. Normally his trouble was getting Agnes to _stop_ talking.

"I have hored that eef you tell someone about a dream, den you never have eet again."

"You didn't come home." She said quietly, and leaned her head against his chest again, curling herself into a little ball, "you said you would be right back, you pinky promised, but you… you didn't. And Margo kept trying to take us back to Miss Hattie's; she said that you weren't coming back, ever."

Silently Gru pulled the disarranged cloth tie from her hair and smoothed the inky strands out of her face. "I am never going to leave like dat, Keeten. Nothing weel ever stop me from coming home to you and your seestors, and I weel never let dat woman take you away from me again."

"You pinky promise?" She asked, little hand coming free from his shirt, and Gru smiled, linked her finger with his own.

"Yes, Keeten, my pinky promises you." A small sound had him looking up and seeing Margo and Edith trying to duck behind the partially open parlor door. "What are you two doing up?"

"We couldn't sleep," Offered Edith who was doing her level best to look unconcerned as she entered the room while clinging tightly to her sister's hand. Margo, more open about her feelings than her sibling, added

"We were worried about Agnes."

"Can we sit with you for a while?"

Despite the fact that it was past two in the morning, that he was tired and had a full day tomorrow, Gru found himself smiling. "I suppose, since you're up anyway."

"Awesome! We never get to stay up this late? Can we watch TV?"

"Go ahead." He laughed as Margo climbed onto the couch beside him.

"Edith, wait, go back one! The Princess Bride, remember that one? It's right at the beginning too!"

"Ees thees a show I should be letting you watch?" He asked, and was surprised as Margo practically bounced with excitement,

"You'll love it, Dad; it has everything from swordfights to princesses, to things getting set on fire."

"Eef you say so. Who ees dat guy in de…. You called me dad." His head snapped to Margo, "You called me dad."

Her eyes widened, her face flushed, and she almost looked scared "Umm… is that bad?"

"You called me dad!" Thrilled, beyond belief he hugged all of them close, "Say eet again!"

"Dad." Edith replied instantly as she clung to him.

"We love you, Daddy!" Agnes said, smiling sweetly up at him.

And for the first time in his life, Gru discovered that there was a thrill greater than impending death.

* * *

Ah it does feel good to update.

So this would have been up weeks ago except that, because my life can't have enough complications, both my desktop and laptop decided to die on the same day. This was followed, directly, by my monitor dying as my bro-in-law and dad are trying to build my new computer and transfer all my stuff onto it.

So this sweet and sappy chapter is hereby dedicated to my sexy new computer! Three cheers!


	8. Singalong

Madcap Moments: Singalong

* * *

Margo's memories of her birth father were tenuous at best. A few scattered, blurred images of a dark haired man in a white shirt were as much as she could manage to form. She couldn't really say if they were really memories, or half-formed creations based on facts gleaned from her mother.

Before the accident, she had never really dwelt on the fact that they only had one parent. Their mother was loving and attentive and they'd had the added affection of a surrogate aunt in Florence Abbott, the next door neighbor and their mother's closest friend. There had never been a reason to question what might become of them is something were to happen to their mother.

Sometimes she still dreamed of the morning after the accident; of waking up to Aunt Florence's panicked shouts, of huddling in the back seat next to a screeching Agnes and desperately trying to wrap her mind around the fact that her mother might die. She had known then, on the way to the hospital, that everything she had ever known was slipping away. Their lives were going to change, for the worse, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

It hadn't been a surprise when, just hours after the funeral, Aunt Florence had gently broken it to them that she would not be able to take custody of them. Her husband, Margo knew, didn't like children. So she had known that they would be sent to the closest orphanage, and that she would be left to care for her siblings.

The only knowledge she'd had about orphanages were from books like _Oliver Twist_ or _A Drowned Maiden's Hair_, so her first impression of the large building had been a surprise. She had expected something dark, grim, and rundown. Instead it was bright, colorful, and so freshly clean the scent of wood polish still teased the senses. The few children she had seen milling about the stairs had been clean too, and they hadn't looked ill or maltreated. For a short, naïve moment, Margo had actually thought that maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

Then she had met Miss Hattie.

Even before Aunt Florence had left and Miss Hattie's sweet mask had dropped from her face like a dead frog, the lyrics to _Little Girls_ had been playing on repeat in Margo's head. It wasn't long before Margo knew the harsh differences between the nineteen thirties lush and the very real and very tyrannical woman who had become their caretaker.

But the _similarities, _unfortunately, had not been lost on Edith. Within their first week her little sister managed to incite a shockingly large number of their fellow residents into a rousing chorus of _Hard-Knock Life_ not once, but twice. And what had she to say for herself when Miss Hattie had, inevitably, ferreted out the ringleader?

"I _loooove_ you Miss Hannigan."

However outraged Margo might have been that Edith had been stuffed into a box for the rest of the day and night, she'd always been very proud.

Despite great efforts made in keeping her siblings occupied and out of trouble, it had often seemed that Edith and Miss Hattie had been in the midst of a quite, fierce war. Of the three of them it had Edith that had spent the most time in isolation, received the worst chores, and bore the brunt of Miss Hattie's contempt. Sometimes, even now, Margo wondered where it would have ended if Gru hadn't stepped into their lives.

Though she would never say that her new father was exactly normal (who answers the door with a mace, or pretends to be a recorded message, seriously?), she would tentatively say that he was stable… most of the time. There wasn't really any single word to describe Gru and the variety of weird things that he did.

This morning, for example, had begun with a phone call. Seconds after answering the call, Gru had flowing into a frenzy of activity which had included, to Margo's great surprise, asking his mother to rush over and babysit. As the minions had proven themselves unacceptable guardians, it wasn't so unusual for Gru to call his mother in for impromptu child-watching… however… this time he had done so with a minimum of complaining.

Normally he acted as though calling his mother, especially to request something of her, was akin to having one's teeth pulled out. Also, when she was around, he was agitated and defensive, and Margo had never once seen him greet her with as much enthusiasm as he had when she'd arrived that morning. She'd never seen him so much as hug her before, let alone rush her into the living room and fetch her a cup of coffee and a pancake.

Just when Margo had thought that he couldn't get any weirder… he had come home. More than six hours after his departure, Gru had burst through the front door… singing.

In a surprisingly pleasant baritone, he had belted out what sounded suspiciously like the lyrics to _I Will Survive_ in a language that Margo had heard him speak before, but never so jovially. He had, then, proceeded to catch his mother up and dance her around the parlor, still singing at the top of his lungs. Nothing she had snarled at him (when she had managed to get over the shock enough to speak), had been able to break her son's mood.

Or his hold.

He dipped her suddenly, causing her to squack loudly in the same foreign tongue that Gru still sang in, brought her up and spun her right back to the couch only to replace her with Agnes. He tossed his youngest daughter lightly into the air and finally switched to thickly-accented English.

"Gorls, go up and get your shoes and socks. We are going to Pezza Palace tonight! You are coming weeth us, Mom, and no arguments!"

"Have you been drinking, Son?" Gru didn't seem to hear the question as he brought Dr. Nefario's image onto the screen and ordered him to go with them, no arguments.

"What's going on, Dad?" Margo laughed, and was rewarded by being swept up into a massive hug and to receive a noisy kiss atop her head.

"Eet ees a _great_ day, keeten. Go and get your seestors ready. Mom, I said you're coming weeth us, put your knitting away!"

"But I don't _like_ peeza!"

Margo laughed as she took both of her sister's by the hand and headed upstairs to get ready. It wasn't often they went out to eat, as Gru didn't really like noisy family-friendly restaurants and anything quieter wasn't Edith proof. She was glad for whatever it was that made Gru happy enough to _sing._ The event had given her sufficient ammunition with which to demand lullabies, but it puzzled her.

She imagined that whatever had been his good day… had likely been a very bad day for someone else.

* * *

This story is NOT on hold. I've just been distracted by other things. Also I was a little stuck on this chapter, which is why it is so short. I almost cut it entirely because it ties into the next chapter which I was considering cutting for reasons you will discover later… but then I decided that I really didn't want to cut either of them so, here you go.

This chapter is also in celebration of me getting a B on my test.

Just recently I discovered that there is, to my utter delight, an Addams Family Broadway Musical. I must see this, somehow. I hold out a tenuous hope that it might come to Oregon sometime after I have money for tickets. Addams family (both the series and the movies) are something I grew up on, and I absolutely love it. I'm hoping some nefarious soul puts the entire thing on youtube so I can satisfy my inner fangirl.

For some reason Gomez Addams reminds me very much of Gru. Wednesday makes me think of some strange combination of Edith and Margo (especially the Musical's version of her). It has inspired a potential Story side-line story to take place after Madcap Moments finishes... not quite a sequel, more like a stand-alone after the fact sort of deal... but I haven't decided anything yet.


	9. Pizza Party

Madcap Moments: Pizza Party

* * *

Felonious Piotr Gru took a long draught from the condensation-frosted glass of house beer, listening in amused silence as Nefario regaled the table with the story of his first sojourn to Egypt as a young man and the particularly bad-tempered camel he had attempted to ride. It was a story that Gru had heard before, more than once, but he'd never before heard the old man tell it with such animation and good humor as he did for the thee wide-eyed little girls that stared at him in rapt attention.

Well, he supposed that the mad scientist had never had an audience who hung on his every word and actually believed him. It appeared that his old friend was starting to get a bit of a soft spot for the girls after all.

For a man who, ostensibly, hated family restaurants as though the sole purpose of their invention had been for his own personal torture, Gru cut a strangely reposed figure in the crowded pizza parlor. Sitting back as he was, against the metallic red vinyl of the seat, one long arm thrown up to rest along the back of the bench and one ankle hooked over his knee, his harsh features softened in amusement. So contented was he, in fact, that he hadn't even been insulted that the waitress hadn't cowered from him when she'd wandered over to take their order.

There were days he'd have taken exception to that and felt, however, today it was just in too good a mood to bother.

Apparently being stranded on the moon for two weeks had had some adverse effects on Victor Perkins and, while he was regretfully still in the states, he was currently residing in a locked room in an insane asylum in Metro City. The information that had come to him only that morning had been so far from what he had been expecting that he had been compelled to go and confirm it for himself.

Upon confirming that it was, indeed, fact Gru had sent flowers and a get-well-soon card with a pop-up moon inside of it; hand delivered by his colleague. Vector was now in solitary confinement (and very heavily medicated) for having attacked the nurse, and Gru owed Megamind a rather large favor. He hated owing favors, however it was worth it.

Totally and utterly worth it.

Oh he knew that it was possible that Vector would eventually recover enough of his faculties to break out and come after him in mad revenge, but right now and for the immediate future he was out of the picture. He would deal with a mad, or half mad ball of orange vengeance if or when it appeared, for the moment he would simply enjoy his family.

Smiling contentedly, he surveyed the table; the three large tin pizza trays that now held only a smattering of slices (and even now he saw that Nefario was casting a lascivious eye at the last piece of pepperoni), the greasy plates and napkins scattered about. The paper straw coverings had been made into torpedoes and bits of paper still lay about the table. Droplets of water where one of his girls had tipped over a (mercifully empty) cup and sent ice flying all over the place.

His gaze lifted to Nefario who had, finally, decided that he did want that last piece after all. He snapped out a black gloved hand with all the speed and accuracy of a praying mantis and collected the slice onto his plate without looking at it or making so much as a pause in his story. Gru chuckled softly, thinking that the man would very likely regret it later.

Ensconced between Nefario and his mother sat Margo, who listened to the man beside her with a mix of fascination and skepticism. They were more similar than she could possibly know, he thought fondly. He had been much the same at her age; smart and cynical. Margo was kind enough to allow the elderly their exaggerations, whereas Gru had not.

His mother had enjoyed herself far more than she was likely to ever admit (and had eaten an astounding amount of pizza for someone who claimed she didn't like it). She was chuckling good naturedly at Nefario's story. She had one arm around an enthralled Edith who sat on her other side, munching on a breadstick. How such a tiny thing put away so _much_ food was truly staggering.

And right beside him sat little Agnes, who had somehow managed to smear pizza sauce on every inch of her person. He really ought to grab a napkin and get some of it off her face, to say nothing of what was staining the front of her shirt, but she was just… so adorable he didn't have the heart for it. Actually, he really wished he had a camera.

He wondered if the sudden rush of affection he felt for all and sundry (or, at the very least, for all those seated at the table) had something to do with the beer. He hadn't felt this warmly toward his mother since… well, infancy.

"Daddy?" Agnes tugged at his shirt insistently and he looked down into those bottomless brown eyes. Dear God, he thought, he would never get tired of hearing that word.

"Yes, Agnes?"

"Have you ever ridden a camel?"

He laughed "I have, yes. Although," He grinned wickedly at Nefario, "_mine_ deed not throw me off hees back and keek sand een my face."

"Some people have all the luck." His mentor grumbled.

"Could we-" Margo began and then stopped abruptly, glancing away. He waited patiently for her to continue, keeping his eyes steady on her face. After a moment, and a little self conscious fiddling, she finally relented, "Could we go to Egypt someday? Would… would you take us?"

"I don't see why not." He replied, thinking that he would take them just about anywhere they asked save for Pairs or, really, anywhere in France. "Porhaps next summer we weel take a treep.

"That ees a lovely idea, son." His mother nodded, surprisingly supportive, "The gorls would have such stories to tell dere classmates at school. You loved traveling as a boy."

He raised a dark brow at her but did not reply. He supposed that fleeing his mother country in the cloak of darkness did indeed count as travelling, but he'd hardly enjoyed it at the time.

Margo was staring at him in utter astonishment. "Really?"

"I had already planned on taking you gorls on a treep, Margo. I just had not decided where, or when." It wasn't quite a lie. The thought of taking them traveling, showing them the world, had indeed occurred to him but he really hadn't considered it seriously until now. All of this, being a parent and having a family, was still so new to him that he hadn't quite gotten around to vacations yet. For that matter, now that it had been brought up, he hadn't even thought as far ahead as the girls' education. When did school start, again?

He was rather startled when he found himself suddenly covered by his children; all of whom had launched themselves into his arms and clung to him in gratitude. They chattered excitedly, and he had to gently pry them off. "Okay, okay. Yes. I love you too. Don't get too excited yet, Keetens, eet ees a long time until next summer."

"Oh my gosh, we get to go to _Egypt_!" Edith said, grabbing Margo's arm and shaking it excitedly, "We have the _coolest _dad _ever!_"

Gru chuckled, watching his children squirm with excitement, and found that it was echoed in his own heart. He was looking forward to the future trip. In fact, he was looking forward to a plethora of future trips. Egypt, the Caribbean Islands, Venice, there was no limit to what he could and would give to his children, not even the sky. Hell, with the adjustments that Nefario was working on in regards to the Shrink Ray, it was quite possible that he would literally be able to give them the moon.

* * *

I must say it is refreshing to get to this story again. I was feeling like my writers block would never go away. This chapter and the next (and possible one more after that) ought to close up what I'm referring to as the 'summer arc'. Short, I know, but these little moments are leading up to the larger story arc.

Poor Gru, never occurred to him that he'd have to get the girls into school.


End file.
